


Consign me not to darkness

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [115]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(3/4 Sith War) Safely away from Coruscant, the Skywalkers and the New Jedi Order struggle to fight back; none more than Pres, who struggles with himself more and more (not EU compliant)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consign me not to darkness

Yavin is wet. Pres doesn’t really remember it from the time mom and dad took him for a memorial service as a kid. It’s odd because that’s what he’d expect to remember. The whole place is dank and humid and unbelievably green. 

“It’s an old temple,” Mara explains. She and Luke found it when they were looking for places of great Jedi lore years and years ago.

( _“What are the odds?” Ahsoka clicks her tongue. Given their family history, there are no coincidences._ )

Everyone scatters to unload the ships, to account for those who are there, to make sure the padawans speak to their parents. When Shmi leaves to call the Antilles girls, and Bee and Sam, of all things, feel compelled to explore, Pres is left to his own devices.

He wanders through the hangar, ducking under ships and looking. The place has a history; Pres doesn’t feel it. ( _It’s almost a relief._ )

He wanders back to where most of the masters meet. He stays to the rear with dad and Chewie, hands jammed in his pockets. ( _He’s left his robes back in the Temple. He’s actually kind of grateful._ )

“We can’t stay. We’re not going to be able to keep Viscous away from here forever,” he says to no one.

Dad and Chewie exchange glances then look at him.

Chewie rumbles about there not being many systems to find security in.

“And we don’t have unlimited resources when we’re adrift in space,” dad adds.

“I was just pointing it out,” Pres grumbles, slightly annoyed. ( _All those idiot politicians who torn at them won’t let their systems be protected and, conversely, won’t protect the Order._ )

Dad thumps him in the back, “Get used to living with next to nothing.”

In a weird way, dad sounds cheery.

\----------

None of the stories could have prepared Shmi for the wretched stench after a battle. Adrenaline carried her through the blur; now she crashes spectacularly.

( _This is what their lives were._ )

And to think, she practically ached to break free of the monotony of the hold of the ship. ( _Now to go back to the cold sterility._ )

“I do not have the same faith in the outcome of these battles as have in the past,” Master Seddwia notes as they walk through the rubble.

“We don’t have a home to go back to,” Shmi points out.

Missing Coruscant – missing the Temple – makes her angry in a way she hasn’t felt in a while, but she will not let that anger get the better of her again.

“True, but I was thinking more of the Republic. Perhaps we were leaning on their military aide too much, and now when there’s none to give…”

Shmi sucks on the inside of her mouth. Though most pleas go through Leia, dad and even mom have been subject to calls from systems requesting aide. It is pride that nothing comes from Chandrila.

They stop at the remains of the unfortunate citizens caught in the retreat of the Sith.

What they find next makes Master Seddwia recoil so fast, Shmi almost doesn’t catch what she throws down.

The rodian shows all signs of being sliced open by a lightsaber, except one. The flesh remains unseared, blood and guts spill onto the ground underneath where the body concealed them before.

“That’s –” but Shmi cannot find the rest of the words. Master Seddwia does not try to vocalize her own thoughts.

Viscous has already done too much: brought back the Sith in unheard of numbers, sewn discord in alienating the Jedi, torn so many away from their systems, brought back the Son, and still finds time to make his evil even more twisted and sadistic.

( _For a second she understands why their family needed to be put on trial. If her grandfather took part in making the galaxy like this, years before, she too would want justice and assurance._ )

There are gasps when they recount what they saw.

\----------

News of Coruscant is surprising. Mara knows what’s in store for the planet, so to hear what exactly has happened almost seems redundant.

Of course, news _from_ Coruscant can only have one source. The Son has no interest in the state of the capitol, but Viscous surely does. ( _Puffed pride and an inflated ego sends this message as some sort of monument to his work._ )

After the meeting, Mara hangs back in the dark hold, staring down the flickering holo.

She never cared for the statues at the entrance of the Temple; much too like the Emperor’s own taste. She cared for Anakin Skywalker’s statue even less. From the corner of her eye, it would remind her of Luke, which she could not abide.

And now Darth Vader can loom over her again. It is a twisted comfort; a dynamic she is familiar with.

The stone head of Anakin is shattered at the feet of his other self.

( _Later, Luke says to her, “There are limits and to have this thrown in my face…”_

_He trails off; Mara waits patiently._

_“The worst part is watching Shmi.”_ )

\----------

If lulls are all they’ll have, Set will take them, every last one.

He beats Zelda in the race into each other’s arms, though she nearly knocks him over when she jumps up, landing every kiss.

There is no embarrassment in such public acts; the whole of the dingy backwater hangar is filled with similar reunions. ( _Though Zelda’s padawan looks as though he could do without the display right in front of him. He scurries off when he sees his parents in the distance._ )

“We had to choose opposite sides of the galaxy?”

It’s not a complaint, but it is hardly a joke.

Everything that afternoon is a sealed promise of all the tomorrows where they will not be parted.

\----------

By the time Pres steps out of the shower, Nalia is finishing lacing up her second boot.

“Headed out already?”

“This was fun, Solo, but I’m not going to stick around just because you’re feeling bad.”

Pres folds his arms, taking the point. His outburst didn’t go unnoticed after all. He is only half guilty; it seems like most days he’s the only one serious about going after Viscous and the Son. This idling is driving him mad.

“I gotta get to patrol,” she says lightly, betraying no deeper emotions. ( _It is almost as if they didn’t spend their time as kids mooning over each other._ )

She lands a kiss on his cheek, “Bye, Pres.”

And with that, they’re done for good. Pres raps his knuckles on the doorframe when he is finally alone.

\----------

Strategizing the attack solely with Jedi is strange, but Han accustoms himself to it well enough. ( _Besides, there’s Chewie, and Lando’s reliably on the back channels._ )

It’s Pres hanging at his heels like he’s still five that’s oddest.

“What’s next?” Pres asks shortly when the coordination comes to an end.

“I believe we have some villains to fight,” Han notes dryly, if amused.

“No, I mean how will he end?”

Less lightly, “Got a plan up your sleeve to defeat erratic fanatic and a quasi-god?”

Pres responds with silence and walks away.

Han gets it. There isn’t much fun in the systems-hopping and waiting of a drawn-out war for a cause that matters too much. ( _He isn’t even bothering to distract himself._ )

“What has gotten into that kid?” Han mutters as Luke heads up the ramp.

He tries not to take the look on Luke’s face as a dire sign.

\---------  
“Marry me.”

If Jon wasn’t a holo – if he was there in person, Sam imagines she’d want to hit him. Or kiss him, more like it.

She blinks back tears furiously.

“Don’t do this because you need to prove you’re not scared.” It comes out as a grumble because she cannot scream. She’s already scared shitless.

“I’m not.”

Sam wants his voice to waver, to show some lack of resolution so she can continue keeping him at a safe distance, now more than ever.

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She clicks the holo off.

\----------

“Who would do something as stupid as that?” Kat asks after Sam announces her latest news, stone-cold at dinner.

“Jon would,” Bee says quickly, to cover she would do the exact same for Kat if they were lightyears apart, facing death every second. She’d even forego the notions she’d entertained of a more elaborate ceremony, in her grandmother’s gown. ( _Not over the top, just nice. And she’s way too tall for that antique piece. Better for Shmi or Sam –_ )

She thought she hid her inner turmoil, but Kat is not fooled for a second.

Kat waves her hand, “We’re going to wait until this is all over – something to look forward to at the end of the war.”

Bee can’t help but chuckle, “You going ask my parents?”

“Only if you ask mine.” Kat pulls her close.

Yes, something to look forward to.

\----------

When Ahsoka pulls Pres aside, he starts his nervous rapping. Whatever she has to say, it can’t be good. They’re too scattered; hunted by the enemy, cut adrift by their own.

“You’re going on a covert operation; case out what sort of fleet Viscous is building up back around Coruscant.”

“You mean flying straight back into the nest. Who knows how read enemy lines well enough to do that?”

Ahsoka half laughs, “I know you used to sneak peeks at old battle plans when you were younger to piss off the Alderaanian leadership – make them think you wanted to defect and become a Republic general.”

Pres snorts at his childish self; now when there’s no title to give up and no government to take an oath for. ( _Just the Jedi knighthood, maybe as it always should have been._ )

He points out the obvious dryly, “I’m not leading an entire fleet.”

Ahsoka lays a hand on his shoulder, “No, but I can rely on your other talents for this.”

\----------

The window of opportunity is short, and Viscous seized up their offer to fight.

When they took the offensive back during the civil war, it was over for the Empire; they chased them out of the last corners.

This offensive doesn’t have the same finality.

Ducking in between the stolen Republic starships, Luke has to remind himself which fighters are the ones to fire on ( _the blue paint streaks on their own blur by too quickly – it becomes a sense_ ).

A blip on his screen appears as quickly as the fighter swoops dangerously close over him. It does not even take a fraction of a second to recognize it as Shmi’s, diving down towards the moon’s surface.

“Shmi, where are you –” he yells over the comm, half forgetting everyone else in the fleet will hear it.

“Pres’s getting too close!” she shouts back.

Several other fighters ( _Darrin, Kai, and – he can’t make out the third_ ) plunge behind Viscous’s line after Shmi.

Luke nearly throws himself in that direction, but if he does, they lose their defense line.

Trust. He trusts Shmi as he trusts the other men and women out here.

And whatever his nephew is doing in mirroring his father – well, Han is good at getting out of it and Pres tends to have more of Leia’s sense anyway.

_Tends to._

The garbled yelling cracks on the comm of the fray on the other side of the battle. Luke redirects his attention to the line of frigates heading straight for their line.

Very quickly it is apparent their offense won’t pay off, not this time. ( _What he wouldn’t do for all of Rouge there now._ )

“Full retreat!” he orders everyone.

He watches as all their fighters fly past him; Pres and Shmi at the tail.

Back in the hangar of their new base, Teekon nearly slams into Pres. Luke quickly steps towards them; Shmi already there.

“What the hell was that?”

Luke forces his way in between the pair.

“Knock it off, both of you! Teekon, go cool off, everyone else, there’s nothing to see here.”

Teekon storms off.

Catching Pres, “Not so fast.” He glances over his shoulder to make sure Shmi is leaving too. She does, once she sees he’s watching. “What _was_ that?”

Pres sighs, “I was sure Viscous was in one of their fighters and I thought if I just…”

“Pres, I know you’re tired. We’re all tired. Getting Viscous will solve some of our problems, but not all of them. We have to be patient.”

It sounds disingenuous; there certainly was a time when he would have scoffed at it, but then Pres is older. Pres should know better.

( _But then maybe Luke doesn’t know any better either._ )

\----------

Pres’s latest attempt to suggest a full-scale assault on Coruscant is rejected and he still fumes privately after.

“It’s not gonna be feasible, even with the additional support we’re getting from the returning systems,” Han reminds Pres. Leia thinks, rather pointlessly.

“But that’s why they won’t expect it!” Pres shoots back. “The Son hasn’t been seen anywhere in a week – he’s up to something and now’s the time to strike!”

“You really that interested in getting yourself killed over this?!”

Leia’s blood turns ice and Pres yells before she can tell them both off.

“Someone has to and none of you fucking cowards will!”

Though they’ve never laid a hand on any of their children, Leia is not sure Han won’t hit Pres right then. Her body doesn’t know what to do. Instinct tells her both it is an overreaction and to grab Pres out of the way.

It is Chewie’s intervention that saves them all. He yanks Han back before Han’s mind makes itself up and roars that they all need to cool off.

Pres flees the room, pushing past bewildered Bee and Sam, drawn to the hold by the shouting.

Leia looks back at Han; Chewie in low conversation with him.

“I’ll go speak to him,” she says to the girls.

( _This always was going to be her task anyway._ )

Pres is perched on one of the starfighters, far away from anyone ( _although they probably ran away from him._ )

When he sees her coming up the ladder, Pres starts to slip off the edge.

Leia grabs a fistful of his sleeve, “Don’t.”

Thankfully, he stays on her command. He shifts back into place, not meeting her eye. His knuckles bang on the metal hull; the infuriating noise that seems to follow him everywhere.

“You can’t let the anger and the want get to you,” she says gently.

He laughs harshly and ceases his habit, “It’s us. We’re easy for it.”

“True, it gets us under our skin and eats at us. You and your uncle blew hot; your grandfather and I blew cold.”

Pres winces at the mention of Anakin. Leia accepted long ago that is her father’s legacy she must carry, same as the color of her lightsaber.

“But we talk about these things now,” she continues. “One must face their trials alone, but that does not mean the Dark Side should be confronted without someone beside you.”

Leia watches the storm which has clouded Pres’s face for weeks now recede. It still hangs at the corners of his eyes, but the worst may be over for now.

“This has been going on for so long,” he finally says, whispers of defeat.

Leia may look back now and say, “No, it’s only begun.” She’s seen wars longer, _been_ in wars longer. Pres is practically the age she was when she had him. ( _Was she really so young?_ )

Instead, “This hardly seems like an assurance, but it will end, one way or another.”

Pres looks at her, and only offers a sad smile.

\----------

The breeze isn’t much, but it is cool and refreshing. It is everything and all Pres needs at the moment.

He listens to the sound of lightsabers crashing, far away.

He’ll stay here, behind, but be the last one away, ensuring they all make it back.

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
